Traditional East Asian Medicine is many things. The term refers to a venerable tree of healing, whose countless branches represent lineages of theoretical, diagnostic, and therapeutic models. These branches have sprouted and taken shape over the course of several millennia.

The “sap” flowing through this great tree comes in the form of such early Chinese texts as the Huangdi neijing (Yellow Emperor’s Inner Classic), Nanjing (Classic of Difficulties), and Shanghan zabing lun (Treatise on Cold Damage and Miscellaneous Diseases). These texts provide us moderners with profound insight into ancient healing systems. They invite us to become part of the tree’s evolution.

These texts lay out early Chinese medical models, rooted in Daoism, which embodied indigenous creativity, a keen observation of natural processes, and, of course, practical value. They serve as the philosophical and practical backbone of what is often referred to today as “classical Chinese medicine.”

The term “classical Chinese medicine” is typically used to distinguish one’s approach from “traditional Chinese medicine” (TCM). TCM grew out of the cultural revolution of the mid-20th century, when various lineages were synthesized and standardized. TCM arose at a time that Western biomedicine was in its ascendancy and, as a result, TCM’s facilitators chose to discard some of the ancient ways of understanding the body and mind that might’ve seemed like naïve superstition to the moderner. They streamlined the complex and sanitized the esoteric, leaving behind many of the psycho-spiritual elements of the classical medicine.

So, in your Google searches or book stores, you might come across the terms “classical Chinese medicine” or “traditional Chinese medicine,” or just “Chinese medicine” or “Oriental medicine.” Or you might come across particular modalities—acupuncture, acupressure, shiatsu massage, moxibustion, cupping, gua sha, Chinese herbalism, Qigong, Taichi, and more.

Since this healing tree is so ancient and expansive, it can be easy to get lost in its winding limbs and dense foliage. And, not only that, but the great tree itself is part of a grove of trees. The fertile soil of early Chinese civilization birthed many systems of thought, beyond medicine—trees of spirituality, of divination, of politics, of agriculture, of myth…

When I’m referring to the tree, I tend to use the phrase “Traditional East Asian Medicine,” since it seems to take into account this tree’s breadth. Korean, Japanese, and Southeast Asian peoples received the early Chinese medical systems and merged them into their own traditional ways.

Some aspects of Traditional East Asian Medicine are newer innovations (tiny branches at the peak of our tree), while other components are essential to the medicine (the roots). One such essential feature of Traditional East Asian Medicine—and one that I so appreciate—is its view that the human being is not so much a thing as a confluence of dynamic, inter-relating processes that link us inextricably to all other parts of the cosmos.

The human stands as a pillar linking Heaven (the immaterial) and Earth (the material). We are made up of twelve organ networks, each of which are composed of a particular organ and its functions, as well as a particular body tissue, sensory orifice, a network of channels, and specific emotional and spiritual resonances.

Take the Liver as an example: the character 肝 Gan is referring to the Liver organ itself and to its function. Furthermore, when we say “the Liver,” we’re also referring to the sinews, the eyes, the Liver channel, the feeling of benevolence for others, the emotion of anger, the capacity for hopes and dreams. Taken together, the organ-network system describes a total approximation of human life, from the most densely material aspects to the most rarefied. 

What’s more, these human processes are continuous with larger forces. To return to the Liver example: the Liver possesses precisely the same energetic imprint as springtime; as the emerald color of the sprouting plant; as the eastern direction; as the Wood element; as Wind qi; as the planet Jupiter.

Continuing to expand our view outward, all of the twelve organ networks and their universal correlates interconnect, forming a single complex system. It evokes the image of the net of Indra (to borrow an Indian metaphor), where every node in the net of the universe is a jewel which reflects every other jewel—every being contains and affects every other being. This viewpoint is holistic (encompassing all phenomena) and flexible (acknowledging the changing nature of life). All things are part of this intricately woven flow.

Now, if all of that sounds overly woo-woo, let’s get down to the nuts and bolts: Practitioners of Traditional East Asian Medicine learn to perceive and assess the state of organ networks via a variety of diagnostic methods, and to engage with them so that they can function optimally. A core maxim by which we abide is 不通則痛 bu tong ze tong: “When there is not flow, there will be pain.” This “pain” might be a headache or a torn ligament or digestive disturbance, or it might manifest as insomnia, obsessive-compulsive tendencies, or sadness. In response to a disturbance in flow, the practitioner seeks to understand its cause and to help provide positive change.  

During sessions, I observe and listen to what the person is communicating, verbally and non-verbally. My role is to understand where flow is impeded in the body and mind, and to then make contact with a given organ network, whether through touch or a needle or an herb or a gesture. The goal is to help restore proper flow, so that the person has the best opportunity for establishing health and wholeness.

In my sessions, I try to keep contact with the roots of the tree so that my clients might be nourished by its fruits. Truly, Traditional East Asian Medicine, can serve as a vital resource for people. I hope that you can benefit from it, finding a nest on whatever branch best serves you!